5. Response Time
Starbase Gandalf, Starbase Gandalf
on moon Gollum, this is Lieutenant Redshirt of the SS Undertaker, lasering in
report of Multivac, planet 5, fly-by
recon.
My trajectory took me past moons
Larry, Isaac and Hal, and a close pass by the Thin Ring. Sulfur volcano Mesklin
on Hal is erupting. Recon shows normal Starfleet activity around Wu colony on
Larry, and normal civilian activity around Trantor colony on Isaac.
Bolo retracted for high-gee burn of
1.1 hektoseconds.
At closest Multivac approach, I stared
at the cloud-tops, spellbound. Multicolored storms spinning off eddies wider
than Rosie! Mighty Multivac, almost a star!
No enemy activity detected.
Redshirt out.
#
Before humans could colonize planet Roseanne, they had to remove
the cyanide from Rosie’s toxic air. It was a massive feat of planetary
re-engineering, a planned ecological collapse, called a 'mild terraforming' for
propaganda purposes. The Mild Terraforming involved systematically
exterminating 17% of the planet's native bacteria species, and its most
advanced strain of lichen. Truffula and lorax survived, but in reduced numbers.
In Lake Ness, Nessies, Gefiltes and Ludefisk
survived, but the Twix succumbed. The Mild Terraforming also required equally
ruthless extermination of human dissent; for the process took centuries, during
which the colony stayed mostly on crowded and airless Dan. A few rebel
mavericks colonized marginal Columbia.
During the 'sojourn on Dan' the Inner Crew encouraged the culture to
crystallize around the sacred video records from Lost Earth.
Still in orbit about Dan is the shell of the colony ship, the Methuselah.
50% of its corpiscles didn't revive; all of the sperm and eggs made it. The
crew sustained genetic damage from centuries of cosmic radiation; so they were
heavily gengineered to repair and enhance.
The crew-bred retain vestiges of privilege, but recently the cargo-bred
have challenged this…
#
It
was on planet Roseanne, in the wilderness foothills of the Wilmas, one hundred
and thirty-seven kilometers north-by-northwest of Bullwinkle, that Randy
Underwood and Francis Raven were fleeing the massacre.
Team
Galactic had raided the rebel stronghold at kilosecond 14; which was 4
kiloseconds before summer sunrise on planet Roseanne’s 84-kilosecond day.
Francis and Randy, the sole survivors of the attack, rode on stolen broom-jets.
They flew low, fast and far.
Before
blasting into the sky, they had destroyed the other broom-jets parked on the
plaza, to delay pursuit by Team Galactic. They flew north-by-northwest, away,
away, away from the smoking wreckage of their former stronghold.
They
flew at rooftop level, guided only by moon-light from quarter-phase Dan and
crescent Becky. City gave way to farmland, which gave way to forest, then
managed wilderness, and then land dominated by native Roseanne vegetation;
braintree, bitter lichen, brickel bush, snide, lorax and truffula.
At
kilosecond 20, two kiloseconds after Elvis-rise, with broom-jets running out of
charge, they survived a hazardous landing in rough and barren terrain. There
they abandoned their discharged broom-jets and set forth on foot.
A
kilosecond later they took shelter under a rocky overhang.
Randy
Underwood looked around the cave and said, “Quiet… secluded… spacious… good
view… defensible position… perfect!”
Francis
Raven said, “What’s perfect?”
“Security!”
he said. “No-one’s watching! Now, do you have that crystal?”
“What,
the data crystal? The one that
Rosemarie tossed to me, right before the door burst in? The one that she
ordered me to escape with, to give to you?” Francis Raven took it out. “Here it
is!” And she handed it to him.
“Thanks!”
he said, eyes gleaming.
“For
what it’s worth,” she said, “which is nothing.”
“It’s
worth a lot,” he said. “I mean, I
already have yesterday’s scan, but this one’s fresh.”
“Fresh,
that’s a good way to put it. I got it just before they d-died.” Francis shook her head. “And what good is it? Crystals need replicators,
and what do we have here?” She gestured to the cave floor, empty of all but
rocks and boulders.
“We
have enough,” he said.
“You’re
so confident. Why?” she said. “We’re
alone, friendless, without resources…”
He
said, “We’ve got this.” He pointed to his backpack.
She
jeered, “Will you pull our dead friends out of that backpack? And an arsenal
too?”
He
chirped, “Can do!”
“So
you’re granting wishes now? How about breakfast?”
“Can
do!”
Francis
Raven stamped a foot. “All right then, how about a- a- a pony?“ She spun around and crossed her arms.
Randy
Underwood laughed. “Will a black helicopter do?”
She
spun around again and glared at him. “What are you looking at?”
He
said, “I was admiring your spirit.”
“You
were admiring my ass!”
“Well,
that too.”
“Oh
great,” she said. “It’s the end of the world, total defeat, and my fellow
friendless homeless hunted refugee is making eyes at me.” She stumbled over to
the nearest boulder, wearily sat on it, and buried her head in her hands. “Oh
gods, oh gods, oh gods,” she wailed, “what’ll we do, what’ll we do?”
And
Randy was standing right beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder, and kissed
the top of her head while she wept. “It’ll be all right,” he said.
“Everything’s going to be okay.” He stood behind her and massaged her back. “We’ll
be fine, I mean it. We have everything we need, right here. You want me to
prove it? Let’s do a checklist. Do we have privacy?”
Francis
Raven looked up, suddenly alert, and said, “Check!”
“Barren
floor littered with gravel, rocks and boulders?” he asked.
She
said, “Check!”
He
said, “Data crystal full of dead friends?” and held it forth.
She
said, “Check!”
He
said, “Field Replicator Mark 2.5?” He walked around to in front of her, took
off his backpack, and said, “Check!”
He
pulled a latch at the top; it went click
and the backpack started to unfold. It unfolded by linked panels into a floppy
loop, about three meters around. Randy said, “Help me with this, okay?” and
Francis leaped to her feet.
Together
they lowered the thing around a nearby pile of rocky rubble. Standing up, the
replicator formed a rough circle, about a meter across. Randy unclipped a data
pad connected by springy cable to the rest of the replicator. “Okay, we’re
ready!” he said. “What to start with, dear? Your wish is my command!”
“Water!” she gasped.
“Water
it is!” And he tapped the data pad.
ZWEEENNNGGG….
The
rubble within the loop of panels vanished, and in its place a canteen
materialized. The replicator settled with a crunch into the gravelly ground,
its mass increased by the mass difference between the rubble absorbed and the
canteen produced.
Francis
reached in, grabbed the canteen, opened it, and drank deep. Then she sighed,
and handed the canteen to Randy, who drank it dry and tossed it aside. “Now,”
he said, “two folding chairs and blankets.”
ZWEEENNNGGG…
Those
items materialized. Francis and Randy took them out of the field replicator and
unfolded the chairs. Francis swaddled herself in both blankets and shivered;
Randy remained standing, data-pad in hand. He looked her over. “I know what you
need. Coffee.”
“Thank
you!” she said.
“Two
sippy cups, one for you, one for me! Double-espresso, extra sugar, hot!”
“Thank
you, thank you, thank you!” she cried.
ZWWEEENNNNGGG…
He
took the drinks out, and gave her one, and sipped on his. “And now,” he said,
“breakfast.” He looked the data pad up and down. “It’s a big menu… How about…”
and he scrolled down the list, “granola bars and soda?”
Francis
sipped her coffee. “No.”
Randy
scrolled down the menu. “Here’s a seven-course banquet.”
“Not
now.”
“How
about scrambled eggs? I scanned yesterday’s batch!”
“Yesterday’s batch? I already had it, you
made it for me, remember?”
“I
remember!”
“Well,
no thank you! I’ll make breakfast
next time!”
“How
about a free-range ludefisk? Fresh-caught from Lake Ness!”
“A
ludefisk? Yuck! Only a Nessie can
stomach those pests! Do you have a fresh-caught, free-range gefilte?”
“No,
not here… I’ll put one in the Mark 2.6, I promise.”
“What
do you have in this replicator?”
Randy
said, “How about…” and he read down the list, ”crottled greeps?”
Francis
said, “Okay! Fine! Crottled greeps it is!”
ZWEEENNNNGGG…
A
silver service, mounted on a small table, materialized within the replicator.
Randy lifted it out by the table’s built-in handles, and set it between the
chairs. He lifted the silver cover. Inside was a large Wedgewood china bowl,
filled to the brim with a steaming heap of crottled greeps. Randy doled out
servings with the ladle and bowls provided; then he sat down, and they ate with
the silverware, also provided.
“Mm,
hm!” he said after awhile. “I love the taste of crottled greeps in the morning!
They taste like life!”
“And
survival,” she replied.
“Let’s
get to work,” he said. “Here, dear. Watch this.”
ZWEEENNNNGGG…
A
backpack materialized. He reached in, got it out, and handed it to her. “Your
very own Mark 2.5 Field Replicator.”
“Thanks.
So these things reproduce.”
“That’s
nothing. This machine contains a cascade
of replicators! Watch this!”
ZWEEENNNNGGG…
Inside
the replicator materialized three large cubes, some coils of cable, and a large
data pad. “This is the level two
machine,” he said. “Help me set this up, OK?”
They
set out the three cubes in a triangle, and connected them to each other with
the cables, forming a rough circle about three meters in diameter. Within that
circle they replicated a picnic table laden with food, plus coolers full of
water, soda, and beer.
“Hey,
what was that?” Francis asked. “What was that breeze?”
“You
mean the wind blowing into the replicator just now? The machine ran low on
mass, so it sucked in some air.”
“You
mean it’s air-fed?”
“In
a pinch.”
“No,
no, no!” she said. “We need air!”
"In
a pinch, I said. And there’s lots of
air. Quadrillions of tons! We can run an industrial society on air-fed
replication for millennia and still only lose a fraction of a percent of the
atmosphere! Besides, most of what we replicate is organic matter, which cycles
into and out of the atmosphere anyhow. And later we’ll make air out of rocks. I
promise!"
Francis
said, “What happens if your replicators, while sucking in air to turn into
energy, also suck in something else? Or someone
else?”
“Then
that something, or someone, also gets turned into energy.”
Francis
shook her head. “These things need safety features.”
Randy
said, “You’re right, we’ll put some into the Mark 2.6.” Francis raised her
eyebrows. He continued, “Next, the necessary room.”
They
moved the level 2 replicator three meters over, to the next patch of ground;
there they replicated porta-potties. They moved the replicator again, and made
tables laden with weapons, along with a level 3 replicator.
The
level 3 replicator, like the level 2, was packaged as three cubes connected by
cables; this time forming a loop ten meters across. They set it up surrounding
a large boulder. “Hey, these things are light,” she said.
“Well,
they’re light when they haven’t absorbed any mass-energy,” he said. “They’re
made mostly of titanium, reinforced with carbon nanotubes. Light and strong.”
“Impressive,”
she said.
“We’ll
want to move this one, after we set up camp, so I’ll dump ballast to reduce
absorbed mass-energy to zero.”
ZWEEENNNNGGG…
A
campsite materialized, complete with pitched tents. “What’s that?” Francis
asked, pointing at a heap of yellow metal.
“The
ballast,” he said. “Gold grickles.”
Francis
picked up a gold grickle. “’Power of Pride’,” she read. “And that’s ol’
Malvolio, in profile.” She turned the coin over and read, “ ‘Galactic Empire,
One Gold Grickle’. And there’s a cute plump tail-finned missile hooped by three
ellipses.”
Randy
said, “The Rocket and Atom. Sigil of Empire.”
She
picked up another gold grickle and compared them. “Hey, they’re identical! They
even have the same scratch marks!”
“Yup.
They’re all replicas of the same coin.”
Francis
said, “Time was, you could go for years without ever seeing a single gold
grickle.”
“Well,
here’s a pile of them!”
“It’s
as high as my hip, and I’m a tall girl.”
“I
like tall girls!”
“Down,
boy! My point is, you’re making some kind of a statement here, aren’t you? How
much is a gold grickle worth now?
“You
want one? You want a dozen? A hundred? Take as many as you need!”
“I
don’t need any,” she said, and tossed
the gold grickles back onto the ballast heap.
“Next,”
he said, “Perimeter defenses. And a pony.”
“A
pony?”
“You
said you wanted a pony.”
“I
change my mind. You mentioned black helicopters. How about those instead?”
“Can
do!”
It
was the work of a few minutes to replicate two machine-gun nests and four black
helicopters. Randy said, “Well, that’s that for now. Food, drink, shelter,
latrine, weapons, defenses, and transport! If our friends need anything else,
they can replicate it themselves! All we need to replicate now is them.”
Francis
said, “Not yet. Let’s break for lunch first, okay? It’s kilosecond 42, high
noon, and I’m famished. Our friends are dead, they can wait.”
So
they sat at the food table and had lunch: crottled greeps, ahagaree, spoo,
fricasseed tribble, bouncing potatoes and lime jello.
Randy
cracked open a can of Tree Frog beer. He boasted, “The field replicator is a
city in a backpack. It’s a portable technological revolution!”
Francis
said, “Yeah.” She was studying the data-pad of the Level One. “You can find
just about anything in it… for
instance…”
ZWEEENNNGG…
“Two
pairs of handcuffs?” Randy said, amused. She scooped them out.
ZWEEENNNGG…
“A
blaster?” Randy asked. “Now why would you want another – uh, whoa, whoa, whoa, watch out where you’re pointing that thing –“
“Okay!”
She pointed the blaster straight at him.
“That’s better. Hands up, please.”
He
raised his hands. “What’s going on?!”
“You
are under arrest, mister.” She tossed
some cuffs into his lap. “Cuff your ankles together. Now. Don’t try any funny stuff.”
Randy
lowered his hands, grabbed the cuffs, leaned over and cuffed himself while
Francis watched carefully. Then she took the other pair of cuffs. She stepped
up to Randy and, blaster held to his head, cuffed his hands behind his back.
Then she stepped back, lowered the blaster, and said, “Good.”
Randy
said quietly, “What’s this all about?”
Francis
looked over the blaster in her hand. “You know, this thing is really well made.
The casing is seamless! And it’s made of nanotube-reinforced titanium, right?”
Randy nodded. “Cool!” she enthused. “You can’t pick up stuff like that just
anywhere! And titanium’s tough to machine!
To work with it, you need some real
advanced equipment!”
Randy
squirmed a bit. “Well – “
“And
look! This blaster has a graviton
setting! Talk about cutting edge tech! And look at the logo, right here on the
heel!” She pointed the blaster straight at Randy again and looked at the sigil
facing her. “A cute, plump little missile with tailfins! Hooped by three
ellipses!”
Randy
stopped squirming. “Oh…”
“The
Rocket and Atom!” she said. “Sigil of Malvolio’s so-called Galactic Empire!”
Randy
moaned, “Ohh...”
Francis
said, “Yeah, busted! This thing’s Imperial! And so is all this stuff! Everything encoded in this handy little field
replicator! All the nanomaterials and the cutting-edge tech and the
user-friendly design – “
“It’s
my user-friendly design,” he
objected.
“All
right, that much is yours! But
titanium machining? In our scruffy little seat-of-the-pants rebellion? Or wait
a minute; can you machine titanium… inside
the replicator somehow?”
“No,”
Randy admitted. “That would require a programmable
replicator. We don’t have that technology, yet.”
“’We’ don’t have it yet. Who’s this ‘we’? Tell me straight, right now, or
else! Where’d you get all this Imperial
loot?” She took careful aim…
His
shoulders slumped. “From my partner, of course.”
“Your
partner. An Imperial?”
“High-ranking!”
“Oh!”
she said, and twitched the blaster tip upward. “I was expecting you to lie.”
“I
wouldn’t lie to you, Francis.”
“Oh
really? Then tell me; who’s this partner? No, let me guess. The good Doctor
Nechaev? Malvolio’s pet genius?”
Randy
nodded. He said, “Tesla Nechaev is the smartest man orbiting Elvis.”
“He’s
also a lunatic.”
Randy
shook his head. “You don’t understand, you don’t know him.”
She
said, “But you do, you’ve worked with him, right?”
He
said, “The field replicator is our baby.”
Francis
said, “Collaboration with the enemy. Who are you really working for?”
“I’m
working for Cliff. My best friend… my partner, I think, is
working for himself.”
Francis
snapped, “How do I know that you’re
not in it for your self? And what’ll
you say to Cliff? How will you explain how you got all this swag? Let me guess
– you’ll say it was all stolen!”
“Actually,
some of it was stolen. Like that gold
grickle.”
“Yes,
I know, by your friends in the Thieves’ Guild. Don’t look so surprised! I know
all about your dealings with them! All your little understandings and bargains!
Don’t you dare deny it! I’ve tracked
you, Randy! You’ve been visiting the Wizard’s
Bastard!”
Randy
moaned, “Ohh…”
“Yeah,
busted again! How many times has
Cliff told you not to go there?”
“It’s
neutral territory,” he argued.
Francis
rolled her eyes. “Is that what you
plan to tell Cliff?”
“If
I have to, sure! He won’t like it, but Rosemarie will talk him down.”
“You’re
right. He’ll even buy your cover story about the Thieves’ Guild. But you know,
and I know, that not all of that stuff fell off a turnip truck! There’s some
boodle that not even Tricky Dick can lift! Some of this stuff – the best stuff – came straight from the
laboratory of Dr. Tesla Nechaev! Who is, may I remind you, Overlord Malvolio’s
top scientific advisor!”
“All
right, have it your way,” Randy said, “Of course
it’s collaboration! But I did it for Science!
Besides, look what I got for it!”
“Sure,
look what you got for your treason! Food!
Water! Camping equipment! Portapotties! And okay, a few weapons…”
“I
got much more than that! We’ve barely
tapped the machine’s potential! Look
at the data pad, see for yourself!”
Francis
Raven studied the menu on the data pad.
After
awhile she said, “It’s a big arsenal…”
“Tesla
insisted. But no unstable isotopes. I
insisted. Or nerve gas, or germ weapons.”
“He
wanted those things?”
“You
wouldn’t believe what he wanted! And the technical
glitches? Oh brother! He and I
had to pound on this thing, hammer
and anvil, just to get it into shape. You could turn the Mark 1.0 into a TC
bomb with just three key-strokes!”
“TC?
You mean, total conversion? Of matter to energy?”
“I
mean boom. Big boom. Big, BIG boom. In three keystrokes. I pointed this out to
him, and you know what he said?”
“What?”
“
‘Oops’.”
“
‘Oops’?!”
“That’s
right, he said ‘oops’!”
“Your
partner’s a real piece of work! I wonder what his problem is.”
“He’s
a genius! He entangled the qubits in
a spinor gauge field! The
eigen-operator is nonlinear! Its
cubic term equals the Ricci tensor, and
that’s what clones the wave
function!”
“Excuse
me? Who’s doing what to whose which?”
“You
see, quantum mechanics had a No-Cloning Theorem, but he found a loophole!
Something to do with the curvature of space…”
“
‘Something’ to do? Don’t you know how your own machine works?”
“Look,
Nechaev’s the theoretician, I’m more of an experimentalist.”
Francis
studied the data pad. “The top of the replicator cascade has three files. A graviton emitter?” She whistled. “A big one!”
“Incomplete,”
Randy said quickly. “Nonfunctional. I insisted.”
“Then
why put it there at all?”
“As
a proof of concept. A warning to everyone that it’s possible.”
“I
see. And what’s this? ‘Libby level’? It’s huge!”
Randy
said, “A city replicator. For civil defense. It scans the city once per
dekasecond, and it activates if there’s
ever an energetic event.”
“An
‘energetic event’? You mean a nuke?”
“Or
antimatter, or a graviton. It’s programmed to absorb the energy of the
explosion, wait for secondary radiation to cool off, and then replicate the
city.”
“I
see. Does it work?”
“Nechaev
tested it on an abandoned ice mine on Harlan. It works fine.”
“And
what’s this third file? ‘His Little List’? Who’s ‘he’?”
“Malvolio,
of course.”
“Let’s
see now… I see, it’s an atlas! A list of settlements. And oh look, here’s an
Addendum!” She scanned the list. “Very thorough…”
Randy
said, “Thorough, yes, you might say call it that. I call it too thorough. But no, it’s not an atlas. It’s a target sequence.”
“Oh
great. So this thing has a city-killer, a city-resurrector, and a hit list.”
“It
includes your people, Francis. The
Columbians! Franklin and Jefferson are on his Little List, and they need to
know that! They need the city replicator! Kill me if you must, spare me if you
wish, but whatever you do, get these replicators to your friends back home!
Complete the mission! It’s more important than I am.” Randy struck a noble pose
– or at least as noble a pose as he could with both hands cuffed behind his
back.
Francis
started laughing. “You smooth-talking son of a bitch…” She put down the
blaster. “Alright, you I trust. More
or less. It’s your partner who’s up
to something!”
“Good!”
Randy enthused. Then, warily; “Can you uncuff me now?”
“Can I? Sure! Will I? That depends!”
“On
what?”
“Well,”
she said. “First, there’s these field replicators. I agree, we ought to get
them to my friends and family back home on Columbia. Particularly
my crazy cousin Katrina.”
“Be
my guest! Make dozens – hundreds of copies! Spread them around! I insist!”
“Fine!”
she said. “And second, I have a… personal
request.”
“Um…
what?”
Francis
put her hands on her hips and shot him a smoky look. Then she said, “You know,
you’ve got quite a fan club, there at the Wizard’s Bastard. Lots of good friends.“
Randy
smiled. “Yes…”
Francis
sneered, “Including that trio.”
Randy
looked puzzled.
Francis
snapped, “You know, those powderpuff
girls! The wenches! That ditsy
blonde! That bossy redhead! And especially that tomboy brunette!”
Randy
moaned, “Ohh…”
Francis
raged, “Yeah, busted a third time!
How often has Cliff told you to lay off the spaceport floozies? They’re a security risk!” She stamped a foot,
crossed her arms, and pouted.
“Oh,
Frannie… you mean you’re jealous?”
“Don’t
oh-Frannie me, Randy! Of course I’m jealous! I’m sort of
old-fashioned in some ways…” She picked up the blaster again, leaned close, and
set the muzzle of the blaster alongside his head. “You see, on Columbia, my home world,
we don’t believe in paper money, and we don’t believe in corporations, but we do believe in private property!”
Randy
looked sidelong at the blaster and said, “And you’re claiming me as yours?” She
nodded, and he said, “Do I get a choice in this?”
She
twitched the blaster aside. “Sure you do! If you want, you can stay locked in
those handcuffs and watch while I tell Cliff that you’ve been whoring and collaborating!”
“Oh…”
“Or,”
she said, “I keep my mouth shut, and you tell those powderpuff girls -
especially that tomboy brunette -
that your wenching days are O-V-E-R!!!”
Randy
nodded fast. “Yes, dear! Those days are over, dear!”
“You
promise?”
“I
promise!”
She
set the blaster down, grabbed him, and kissed him hard.
After
a long while, she reluctantly disengaged. She got the keys and uncuffed his
hands; he took the ankle-cuff keys and bent over to uncuff himself. That done,
he sat up straight, then turned to Francis and said, “Hey, you were looking at
my ass!”
“I
was admiring your ass. And your spirit.”
They stood up, they embraced, and
they kissed again.
Then
they got to work, replicating their fallen comrades. They arranged their
largest replicator around a large boulder. This proved not quite massive
enough; during replication the machine took in a gust of air.
Multicolored
streams of plasma converged and condensed. Human figures formed, solidified,
and animated. Cliff Andover and Rosemarie Vassar materialized, as did Aang,
O-B-1, Ben Ten, Ray Kwazaa, Duke Nukem, Neutron, and that newby Kirby.
All
gave out their usual replications cries. As usual, Andover went “Aw fuck!”, Rosemarie went “EEEEK!”, Aang
cried, “Whoa!”, O-B-1 bellowed “NOOO!”, Ben Ten hollered, “That’s not good!”,
Ray Kwazaa wailed “Whaaat?!”, Duke Nukem yelled “Blast!”, Neutron yelped
“Jeepers!”, and Kirby squeaked “Gleep!”
As
usual, Rosemarie fell down in a faint; but Cliff calmly looked around at his
friends inside the loop of the level 5 replicator; then at the two friends
outside the replicator; and he said, “Debrief us!” He was always quick to get
back on his feet after resurrection.
Randy
Underwood addressed Cliff and the men. “Team Galactic attacked the stronghold
before sunup, at kilosecond 14, with air and artillery support from Team Aqua
and Team Magma. Francis Raven and I, the sole survivors of the raid, fled on
stolen broom-jets, bearing nothing but a data crystal with your latest scans,
and a field replicator, Mark 2.5.”
“You’ll
find food and drink that way,”
Francis Raven said, pointing, “weapons there
– camping gear there – portapotty this way – perimeter defenses that way – and black helicopters over there.”
The
men went to eat, and then to arm themselves.
Randy
approached Cliff and said, “Retaliate?”
Cliff
nodded. “But of course. Camp here tonight, move out tomorrow morning.”
Randy
said, “Retake base Alpha?”
Cliff
shook his head. “Too obvious. Do we have long-range transport?”
“Not
replicated yet. I have scans – uh, stolen
scans – of Imperial hypersonics.“
“You
mean hop-rockets? Suborbital?”
“Yes!”
Cliff
said, “Sweet. Make a fleet, will you?”
“It’s
a big job, I’ll need to organize a work team.”
“You
do that, say I said so.”
“And
the target? Soft, hard? What’ll I tell the men?”
Cliff
said, “Tell them… to get ready for some sun and fun. In the Gilligans.”
Randy
said, “Can do!”
Meanwhile,
Francis helped Rosemarie Vassar get on her feet. Francis said, “You wanted the
response time. The precise response
time, you said, when you tossed me the data crystal.”
“Yes,”
Rosemarie said, visibly perking up. “I would
ask for that.”
“So
I started the timer on my watch.”
“Yes,”
Rosemarie said, and smiled. “You would do
that!”
Francis
consulted her wrist-watch. “It is now almost kilosecond 56; fourteen
kiloseconds before sundown. That’s 42 kiloseconds, half a Rosie day, from
fleeing survivors to a fully equipped, supplied, armed and debriefed strike
force.”
Rosemarie
was positively radiant. “Is that precisely
42 kiloseconds?”
Francis
said, “It’s precisely 42 kiloseconds…
as of… now.”
And
her watch went:
Bip!
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